Culture and Class
by The Almighty Ro
Summary: Austria learns that you don't need to be cultured to make cultured things and that Prussia has more than one trick hidden up his sleeve.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own, claim to own, or pretend to own the characters involved in this work of fiction. Nor to I own the impossibly difficult and rediculous pastry that is the center of this fic.

**Note:** This is not a Prussia/Austria fic even though it gets away from me for a moment and implies it. I think I would classify it more as a rivalry turned in the direction of a possible friendship should the people involved ever get over themselves and take that step.

But we know they won't. *twinkles*\

**Enjoy, su!**

**Culture and Class**

"Dude, you look like shit."

He supposed that was one way of putting it, considering he felt much worse. Then again, he couldn't see himself so he supposed to others his outside matched his inside.

Salvaging enough pride to look down his nose at him, Austria asked, "What do you want Prussia?"

The Albino didn't answer him at first, instead strutting around the ruined kitchen and whistling low at any particularly nasty looking spots. Every inch of once pristine tile was covered in a strange, sticky substance that may have been batter and may have been something else altogether; several of the pots on the stove were either smoking merrily or bubbling over while their contents filled the kitchen with a sickly sweet smell; eggs were cracked on the floor, a bag of flour had been left upended in a corner, and what he thought might have been a mixer looked sadly in need of a good cleaning. A 'mess' didn't even describe the warzone he had walked into.

It looked like Austria had gotten into a fight with his kitchen and lost.

The thought made him snigger.

"If you are quite done," the shorter nation huffed, attempting to clean his glasses on a dirtied sleeve, "I would ask that you leave before I have to call Hungary."

Prussia snorted. "And what, prove to her that her precious Roddy isn't as perfect as she thought?" The sore feelings over the loss of his dearest friend to the aristocrat in his tone ground Austria's retort to a screeching halt as he stuttered incoherently at him, unable to answer. Shaking his silver head, he asked, "What the hell were you trying to make anyway?"

It took several moments for Austria to recompose himself. When he did, he gave his fellow German the haughtiest look he could muster under the circumstances. "If you must know, France asked me to deliver a _croquembouche_-"

"Gesundteit."

"-to a party he is hosting later today," he finished with a scowl. "Was that really necesary?" he asked after a beat of silence.

"Force of habit," Prussia shrugged as he moved around to survey Austria now. "What was that thing again?"

He supposed he could show the Albino what an imbecile he was by explaining-in large words-what a _croquembouche_ was, but Austria was tired, dirty, and his pride was in ruins anyway. So instead, the bespectacled nation simply threw the cookbook he'd been using for reference at him and let that be that. If he was lucky, the jeering he would receive wouldn't be as bad as it usually was when he flubbed something this spectacularly.

Seeing as Prussia couldn't bake for beans anyway.

The low whistle came as a surprise. "Sure are ballsy to attempt something like this on your own. Why didn't you ask France to help you? This is his thing, right?"

Austria felt his cheeks heat up and knew for a fact he was turning red. His answer came out muted and muffled.

"What was that?"

Unable to avoid the subject, the Austrian sighed in defeat and slumped against the counter behind him. "I didn't want him to know I'd never made one before."

There was a beat of silence before Prussia dissolved into hysterical laughter, tears pealing from his red eyes. Face on fire, Austria could do nothing but seethe and scowl at him.

"Seriously dude? You can't make cream puffs?" he asked between fits of laughter. "That's like, Baking 101 isn't it?"

"I can so make a cream puff!" the shorter nation snapped, feeling stung. "I'm just not accustomed to France's style of cookery and-and-and why am I explaining myself to you? Find whatever window you used to break in here and get out! I don't have time to cater to your whims when I have to deliver this-this THING in three hours!"

Still laughing like a fool, Prussia made his way over to the panting nation and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, calm the fuck down. It's not awesome to stress over something this stupid." Since when was he the voice of reason?

Covering his face in his hands, Austria nodded; though he was loathe to admit that the other was right. "I...I know," he murmured miserably. "I'll just have to ring up France and tell him I simply can't do it. Maybe he'll forgive me in a century or two for letting him down."

Now that just wouldn't do, Prussia thought with a glint in his eye. It was common knowledge that France liked to knock down countries that he felt had gotten too uppity over the years, so for Austria to accept this request BY HIMSELF without a second thought, either the bespectacled Nation was just that thick-headed or he'd forgotten. Either way, the only one allowed to humiliate Specs was him so maybe it was high time France's game was thrown back in his face?

"Tell you what..." Prussia leaned in conspiratorially, voice barely above a whisper in Austria's ear. The smaller Nation shivered and told himself it wasn't because the Albino was too close. "...why don't you go get yourself cleaned up and get ready, and come back down here when you're ready to go?"

"You're not going to vandalize my kitchen, are you?"

He snorted. "What can I do to this dump that you haven't already done yourself?"

He had a point...but he still didn't trust him. His hand clenched Prussia's sleeve as he glared up at him. "If I find out you've burnt my kitchen down..." he trailed off, letting the threat of Hungary hang heavy over the two of them.

Prussia waved it off. "Whatever, just get going. I'll take care of everything."

It was unclear whether or not Austria left because he trusted the ex-Nation or because he was just tired of staring at his own short-comings, but he left the Albino anyways.

Once he was gone, Prussia scooped Gilbird from her perch in his hair and set her a safe distance away. "Well, let's give Frenchie what-for, eh?"

The little yellow bird cheeped her agreement.

Well nothing appeared to be on fire when he finally slumped his way down the stairs toward the kitchen; even better, the sickly sweet smell of blackened sugar appeared to be gone as well. It was too much to hope that Prussia had taken pity on him and decided to clean up, but not only had he seemed to do that (something that stole his breath away when he entered the now sparkling cooking area), but he'd gone several steps further.

"What...?"

The ringing of the phone jerked him back into himself and Austria ran to pick it up.

"Prussia, I don't know what you did, but-"

_"What has mon Gilbert done now?"_

Words dying in his throat, Austria shifted the phone awkwardly against his ear and tried to find a way to divert France from what he'd been about to say.

It didn't matter though since France did it for him. _"Ah, enough about him, did you finish what I asked of you?"_

Austria fumbled for an answer as he stared at the imposing presence sitting on his kitchen counter, but eventually he managed a small, "Yes?"

For a moment France seemed a bit at a loss for words, as if he had honestly expected the Austrian to say no, but recovered quickly. _"Splendid! Make sure to transport it accordingly, oui? I will see you at the party."_

The line went dead before Austria could stutter a reply.

The rest of the world loved it.

Everyone knew of Austria's little hobby, knew that he was damn good at producing the best taste and look one could next to France; but for him to accomplish a _croquembouche_, something of the blonde county's own creation, by himself...

Even England was impressed.

This was all well and good, he supposed; not only was his reputation intact, but he had apparently beaten France at his own game. After the shock had worn off, he'd analyzed his phone call with the blonde and realized that he'd been trying to humiliate him. In a way he was grateful to Prussia for helping him save face, but also guilty for taking all the credit...he'd really helped him, someone he probably would have rather had fall flat on his face, out. But the mystery remained...how on earth did he manage to get a whole _croquembouche_ made in less than three hours?

An arm was thrown casually over his shoulders while he was deep in thought; Austria jumped. "If I had known you would go to mon Gilbert for help, I would never have tried to trick you," France whispered in his ear. His breath was saturated with the stench of wine and it took the bespectacled Nation all he had not to push him away. "Very clever of you, mon ami, very clever indeed."

"What are you talking about?" he snapped softly to avoid drawing attention.

With a snort, the blonde gestured at the half demolished pastry tower. "Those are not marzipan songbirds peeking out at us, cher, those are little yellow chickens." Then, in a softer voice, he whispered, "Do you not think I wouldn't recognize my own student's work?"

Austria stilled under his touch, face white. "Student?"

He nodded. "Gilbert is such a competitive little thing...he hates it when others can do things he can not. So I offered to teach him the art of French cuisine." After making sure the brunette was riveted, he added with a smarmy smirk, "He has been _very_ receptive to my tutelage."

The smaller Nation colored beautifully.

"I don't understand...why would he care about baking? He's always avoided it so steadfastly."

"Ah, now that is the question, oui? Music, I can understand, his beloved Old Fritz taught him the flute after all."

Austria didn't know that about Frederick...

"But cooking, especially my way, has always held little interest for our Gilbert. I do have a theory however..."

He had Austria's full attention now and France had to hide a smile at the unabashed curiosity. "And that is?" he asked.

France held a finger up to his lips and smiled. "That is a secret, I'm afraid," he said and laughed at the disappointed scowl he received. "I will rephrase: it is too early to tell, just know that it is a real honor for him to reveal a skill he so jealously guards from others. Ludwig doesn't even know."

"Germany doesn't...?" Violet eyes wandered their way over to where the blonde Nation was standing, North Italy hanging off his arm and being the same nuisance he always was (except that there was a tiny smile on Germany's face as he gazed affectionately at the Italian). "Why-?"

"This I do not know...who's to say why Gilbert has this insatiable need to prove himself? I'd wager it's quite a tale though."

Austria merely gave France an exasperated scowl while the later smiled mysteriously at him. Why did he even bother playing the blonde's games if he knew he was going to be vague? It was almost a given that, even if he knew all the facts, he would never disclose them without a rather weighty 'price'; it was Napoleon all over again.

Elbowing himself free of the other man's grip, the aristocrat made to rejoin the party with an indignant huff. He'd had enough of games and would never again take commissions from the perverted Frenchman again if he was going to be harassed like this. Maybe later he could convince Hungary to pay him a little...visit.

France watched him go with a wry smile and shook his head. "If there is one thing you learn from this," he called after him. The smile turned into a grin when Austria tensed though his gait did not waiver. "It should be that class is not reserved solely for the classy!"

**End**

1: A _croquembouche_ is what's considered a traditional French wedding 'cake'. Typically it's made of a tower of cream puffs, filled or empty depending on what you intend to do with it, all glued together with caramel and sitting atop a nougatine base. Depending on how creative you are, you can make little birds and flowers out of marzipan to stick on it and make a crown of spun sugar to go on top; there is lacing made of royal icing on the teeth of the base.

2: Frederick the Great was known for many things, one of which was his skill with the flute and the music he composed and performed for his court.

3: You know France was a dick when he had Napoleon as his boss.

I made a _croquembouche_ in class about a month and a half ago (when I first started writing this thing) and it was a huge bitch to make. Fortunately, my class was allowed to work in pairs so it wasn't so difficult...but maybe Austria has learned another thing from this: don't attempt an immensely difficult pastry thing on your own if you've never done it before! Prussia just happens to be a boss, that's why he was able to make it.

And please ignore my weird headcanon about how Prussia is secretly a baker; I was feeling inspired and thought this would be cute and fun. - As for Austria, I'm sorry to say that it felt odd writing him. I'm not a huge fan of his to begin with, which makes it difficult for me to characterize him (I'm SO sorry if I got it wrong! -), but I believe in giving all characters a fair chance and the situation seemed to fit him better. Especially if I want to expand my horizons. *twinkles*

**Reviews save lives. They also make adorable marzipan birdies.**


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